


kiss me beneath the milky twilight

by countthestars



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, American Football, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 21:02:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5348393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countthestars/pseuds/countthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I remember what it was like being a Tiger, you know,” Liam says unexpectedly. He turns towards Harry, finally meeting his eye. “Whole world served up on a silver platter, but you still want more.”</p><p>Harry stares, mouth open slightly in astonishment, and Liam continues, “But real life isn't like that, Styles. You can't always get what you want.”</p><p>“Can't I?” Harry counters, dragging his gaze pointedly up and down Liam's body. The way Liam's cheeks pink up is only obvious if you're looking for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	kiss me beneath the milky twilight

**Author's Note:**

> a continuation of this [tumblr drabble](http://moondoggiestyle.tumblr.com/post/134242857884/i-just-read-your-tags-on-the-gifs-of-harry-and), featuring mechanic!liam and football star!harry. this could be considered a FNL au and takes place in the fictional town of arnett mead, which was randomly selected from a list of dillon panther rivals. texas forever. also, for the record, harry is 18 in this fic, although that isn't explicitly mentioned. 
> 
> title from 'kiss me' by sixpence none the richer.
> 
> finally, endless thanks to ollie for all the hand-holding; you're the absolute best <33

 

“That's Liam Payne,” Niall whispers in Harry's ear, loud enough for the entire garage bay to hear, including Liam Payne himself, probably.

Elbowing Niall in the side until he edges far enough away that Harry can't feel his hot breath tickling the side of his face anymore, Harry mumbles, “who?”

Niall points less than subtly at one of the mechanics who's bent over the engine of a car, his face hidden from view. He fills out the white tank he's wearing nicely, though, and his biceps say he knows his way around a gym. All in all, not a bad view.

“Uh, I think he might've been a senior when we were freshman, do you remember? Blew out his knee right before state. My dad says he lost out on a full ride to FSU.” Niall's whisper is louder than most people's normal speaking voices, and there's no way Liam Payne isn't hearing this.

Sure enough, he straightens up abruptly, grabbing a grimy towel that was draped over the hood of the car to wipe his oil-covered hands. He doesn't look over, though, instead chatting to another mechanic, a middle-aged guy with a hefty gut his coveralls don't do much to hide.

“So he became a mechanic?” Harry asks, threading his finger through his keyring and spinning his keys around until they hit his palm with a loud, jangling _thwap_. He does it again, and again, building up a rhythm.

Niall shrugs. “Guess so.”

It takes about seven rotations of Harry's keys before Liam finally looks over, his gaze unerringly landing on Harry. There are damp rings beneath his arms and in a vee shape down the front of his oil-stained shirt, and a few days' worth of dark stubble covers his jaw. Harry can't grow much more than peach fuzz himself, but the length of his curls keeps everyone too distracted to notice.

“He's cute,” Harry says, once he's sure Liam's making eye contact from across the garage. He doesn't bother to keep his voice low.

Liam drops his gaze, flinging his towel over one broad shoulder and ducking his head beneath the hood again.

Interesting. Harry swings his keys around one last time, just to see Liam flinch when they smack against his palm.

-

Liam's working again the next day when Harry arrives at the shop to pick up his truck and its freshly installed break pads. He had Niall drop him off out front, so there's no reason not to linger, really.

Harry smiles blandly at the guy ringing him up, handing over his step-dad's credit card without paying attention to the total. He's more preoccupied with coming up with a viable excuse to talk to Liam, who's halfway across the busy garage bay, on his knees to do something or other to a taillight, from what Harry can tell.

The guy ringing him up – Paddy, the embroidered nametag on his shirt boasts – is more observant than Harry gave him credit for. “Liam looked at your truck personally,” Paddy informs him, jerking his head towards the boy in question. “Good eye for detail, that one. Your truck was in good hands. Very good hands.”

And, well. Excuses like that don't fall in one's lap just everyday. “In that case, would it be all right if I thanked him personally?”

He smiles his best smile in case Paddy still needs to be convinced, but Paddy's looking at Liam fondly when he says, “Knock yourself out, kid.”

Folding up his receipt to shove it in his back pocket, Harry busies himself sliding his key back onto his keyring as he picks his way across the garage, wary of the suspicious stains that cover the cement floor. He edges cautiously around a slick-looking puddle of oil, and Liam either hasn't noticed him, or he's giving an Oscar level performance pretending.

He startles badly when Harry clears his throat, so probably the former.

“Shit, you scared me,” he says, palm covering his heart, and he half turns on one knee to look up at Harry. “Are the – oh. It's you.”

His tone is the kind of casually neutral that ends up sounding rehearsed. This close, Harry can see the bit of chest hair that pokes out the top of Liam's tank, and the faint blush staining his cheeks that his stubble can't quite hide.

“It's me,” Harry agrees, wondering if Liam recognizes him from the field Friday nights, or just from being in the shop the other day. “Paddy tells me you took a personal interest in my truck. Should I be worried about any severed break lines?” He lets the corner of his mouth pull up into the lopsided smile that makes girls twirl their hair and bite their lips.

Liam's lips are plusher than any girl's that Harry's been with, and he wants to sink his teeth into the skin just to see what kind of noise Liam will make.

“That cost extra,” Liam says, so deadpan it takes Harry a second to realize he's made a joke.

“Cute _and_ funny,” he drawls, grinning wider. “You're quite the catch, aren't you, Liam?”

For some reason, that makes Liam drop his gaze, angling his shoulder away from Harry again. “I should get back to work.”

It's a clear dismissal, but Harry's never been the type to shy away from a challenge. He lets his voice drop lower and purrs, “What time do you get off?”

Liam's already hunched shoulders climb to nearly his ears before relaxing again, his breath releasing on a long sigh. “Don't you have practice? Thought Coach was still doing two-a-days.”

And that answers one question, but opens up thousands more. “You coming to the game Friday night?”

Pushing off his knees, Liam climbs to his feet, wiping his hands off on his dirty coveralls. He's the exact same height as Harry, which means they're eye to eye when Liam says, “Can't. I'm busy.”

He doesn't wait for a response before he walks off, careful not to let their shoulders brush as he edges around Harry.

-

Liam's made it abundantly clear he doesn't want Harry around, but really, there's only one reliable car shop in the entire town, and Harry can't help if his radiator hose has come loose.

If he requests that Liam look at his car personally, well; he's got a reputation for having good hands.

Liam doesn't even glance at Harry as he's propping up the hood, but he stares at the radiator for a very long moment before he says, “Why does it look like someone pulled the hose clean off.”

It's not actually a question the way that Liam says it, but Harry answers cheerfully anyway. “Bet it was a prank. Football players and their hazing, am I right?”

With deliberate movements, Liam reaches out and reattaches the hose, checking to be sure it's firmly secured before he shuts the hood of Harry's truck with a quiet click.

“You fixed it that quick?” Harry asks, not quite feigning surprise. He'd wrenched the hose off pretty forcefully.

“I remember what it was like being a Tiger, you know,” Liam says unexpectedly. He turns towards Harry, finally meeting his eye. “Whole world served up on a silver platter, but you still want more.”

Harry stares, mouth open slightly in astonishment, and Liam continues, “But real life isn't like that, Styles. You can't always get what you want.”

“Can't I?” Harry counters, dragging his gaze pointedly up and down Liam's body. The way Liam's cheeks pink up is only obvious if you're looking for it.

“The hose repair is on the house. Have a nice day.” Liam gives him a brief, close-lipped smile before he walks away, ducking through the employee's only door.

-

Harry's drenched in sweat, his practice jersey sticking to his damp skin as he grabs for the bottle of water he left by the benches. The rest of the team's already making their way to the locker room, and Harry ambles along behind them, brushing away the tendrils of hair that have escaped his hair tie and plastered themselves to his forehead.

His path is cut off when an unamused Liam steps in his way, arms crossed over his broad chest. He's in jeans and a t-shirt today, which is a shame because Harry really likes when his chest and arms are on display.

“Liam!” Harry crows, slowing to a halt. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Liam's frown deepens, which Harry didn't think was possible. “Don't act like you don't know why I'm here, Styles.”

And, well, Harry has his suspicions, but Liam's kind of hot when he's mad. It's possible Harry has a problem. Pasting a smile on his face, he shakes his head and shrugs. “Wanted to see the old stomping grounds?”

“Cut the crap. Tell me why your _mother_ showed up at my house to invite me to Sunday dinner.”

“Oh, well.” Harry shrugs again, plucking at the fabric of his jersey. It's so uncomfortable, the way it sticks to his skin, and he's about to hit the showers anyway. There's no reason not to take it off. The way Liam's eyes dip down to trace over his bare chest before snapping back up to his eyes is just a bonus, really. Harry grins. “I might've mentioned how you fixed my truck for free, and my mom, she just got it in her head that she needed to fix you dinner in return. She's worried about you eating right, you know, being a young, eligible bachelor, and all that.”

Liam stares at him. “You're unbelievable,” he says at last.

Draping his jersey over his shoulder to free his hands, Harry uncaps his waterbottle, chugging down a few swallows before dumping the rest over his head. The cold water drips down his face and Liam clears his throat.

Slowly, Harry opens his eyes, blinking away the excess water. “So I'll see you Sunday?” he asks.

“I have plans,” Liam chokes out, and all but runs to a dusty red pickup truck Harry hadn't noticed before, parked just behind the bleachers.

-

The roar of the crowd is background noise when Harry takes the field Friday night, lights blindingly bright overhead. The rush of adrenaline is like nothing else, and he's never found anything that feels as good as playing football.

He doesn't spare a glance towards the stands until he's benched close to halftime, jogging slowly off the field, and he does a double take when he spots a familiar figure standing in the shadows next to the bleachers, shoulders hunched and hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans.

Liam's too far away for Harry to tell if he's looking at him, or just the field in general, but then Louis slaps him on the back, barking _good hustle_ in his ear, and Harry loses himself back in the game.

He doesn't remember to look for Liam again until the scoreboard counts down to zero, the crowd screaming in victory, and by then it's too late.

Liam's long gone.

-

Saturday night finds Harry in the passenger seat of Louis' car, Niall hanging out the window in the back as they race down country roads, young and fast and reckless. Harry whoops loudly, the wind whipping against his face, and Louis cackles as he takes a turn too fast, tires squealing loudly against the asphalt.

He slows down when they drive by an outcropping of buildings; a gas station, a bar, and an inexplicable antique shop all in a row alongside the otherwise abandoned stretch of highway just inside city limits.

“Shit, I need gas. You boys want anything?” Louis asks, pulling up to a pump and turning off the ignition. “Harry's buying,” he adds with a grin, before slipping out of the car to fill his gas tank.

From the backseat, Niall's face is lit with a blueish glow as he stares down at his phone. “Jade says Jesy's having a party and her brother's getting a keg.”

Harry drums his fingers on the car door, elbow hooked over the edge where the window's rolled all the way down. “Sounds fun,” he says, but he's restless, distracted. The parking lot of the bar next door is crowded and Harry scans the cars, trying to pick out any that are familiar. Arnett Mead isn't a big enough town for secrets, and he knows at least half the population's vehicles by sight.

Louis disappears inside the gas station to pay and Niall's still texting Jade, giving Harry blow by blow updates on Jesy's brother's saga to get the keg. Harry hmms in response whenever Niall pauses to take a breath, but Niall really doesn't need much positive reinforcement to keep the monologue up.

A few minutes later Louis emerges with a bag of chips under his arm, sauntering across the parking lot towards the car, and Harry decides that what he really needs right now is a banana. Unbuckling his seat belt, he opens the door and climbs to his feet right as Louis reaches the car.

“Can we pick Perrie and Leigh-Anne up on the way to Jesy's?” Niall asks as Louis chucks his bag of chips through the open driver's side window, pumping his fist in victory. “Her brother's got a keg. Well, sort of. It's a long story. Harry knows.”

“Sure,” Louis agrees, folding himself back into the driver's seat. “If Harold here would get back in the car.”

“Hold up,” Harry says, because now that he's standing he can see more of the parking lot next door, and he recognizes that dusty red pickup truck.

“Harry, c'mon, the girls are waiting,” Niall protests, but Harry waves him off.

“I'll just be a minute.”

He crosses the parking lot, stepping over the shallow drainage ditch that separates the gas station from the bar. It's a dingy place that Harry's never seen the inside of sober, but there's a first time for everything. Niall and Louis are still calling after him, but Harry ignores them, pushing his way inside.

Smoking indoors has been banned for years, Harry thinks, but the smell of cigarette smoke still clings to the wooden slatboard walls and the cracked vinyl seating that's probably older than him. The floor is scuffed and covered in stains of suspect origin, and the bartender's effort to wipe down the counter with a dirty rag in his meaty hand isn't going so well.

It's not at all the kind of place he would have expected to find Liam in, but Liam seems to have a habit of surprising him.

Sliding onto the empty barstool next to him, Harry flags the bartender over. “I'll have whatever he's having,” he says, tipping his head towards Liam's beer.

“You're not 21,” Liam says, taking a drink without looking in Harry's direction.

Under the counter, Harry lets his knee bump deliberately into Liam's, pressing firmly enough so Liam knows it wasn't an accident. “I'm an Arnett Mead Tiger,” he reminds Liam, and the bartender slides a cold beer into his waiting hands. “The world is my oyster.”

Liam finally flicks an eye towards him. “The world's a lot bigger than just Arnett Mead.”

Taking a cautious sip of beer – it's a stout, darker than Harry's used to, and the foam clings to his upper lip before he swipes it away with his tongue – Harry takes the time to very carefully lean closer to Liam, until their arms are nearly brushing and he can feel the heat radiating off Liam's side, even with a few inches left between them. “You sound like you have a story to tell,” he says, pitching his voice low enough that Liam will have to strain to hear him.

Liam snorts. “You know my story. Everyone does.”

“So why not leave?” Harry asks, suddenly curious. He can see the scar that splits Liam's knee in two through his ripped jeans, still angry and red despite the years that have passed since he got it. Football players are gods, except when they're still mortal enough to scar. “Get out of Arnett Mead, go somewhere no one even knows your name?”

When Liam shrugs, they're close enough that his arm brushes against Harry's sleeve. “Better to be a has-been than a never-was, I guess.” He knocks back a healthy slug of beer, throat working as he swallows. “But you didn't come in here for smalltalk, did you, Harry?”

Harry lets his lips curl into a slow grin, and beneath the bar, he slides his palm across Liam's thigh, just above his knee.

“Oi, Styles. You coming or what?”

Niall's shout from the doorway startles him, and Harry swears under his breath, hastily pulling away from Liam. “I said I'd just be a minute, Niall.”

“Louis says it's been ten minutes, and he's not waiting anymore.” Niall's got his hands on his hips, standing in the doorway, and he might just be a messenger, but Louis means the message.

“Then leave,” Harry says, propping his elbow on the bar, turned sideways so that he can see Niall. “I'll find my own ride home.”

Liam makes no comment to that, but he's not the sort of person to leave someone stranded with no way home. At least, that's what Harry's banking on.

“Whatever. I'll tell Louis. Later, Harry.” He hesitates for only half a second before adding, “See ya around, Liam.”

Liam raises one hand in acknowledgment and then Niall's disappearing back outside, the door swinging shut behind him.

“So,” Harry says once Niall's gone, fingers finding the rough denim of Liam's jeans again, this time tracing halfway up his thigh. “Where were we?”

Liam catches his wrist, stopping the movement of his hand. “I was giving you a ride home, apparently.”

Harry flexes against Liam's grip, testing, but he doesn't loosen it, his fingers digging into the thin skin of Harry's wrist just shy of painful. “If you're not willing, I can find someone else. I'm not exactly hard up, you know.”

“I know,” Liam says, finally dropping Harry's wrist. He turns back to his beer, knocking back the rest of it. “If I take you home, will you keep your hands to yourself?”

“Not a chance,” Harry grins, and Liam pulls his keys from his pocket with a sigh.

-

Liam drives a stick shift, which is hot, and also means that his attention is completely focused on driving. Harry takes advantage to reach across the center consul between them, rubbing his hand over Liam's leg again, just above his knee at first, then slowly working his way up, paying special attention to the seam on the inside of his thigh.

Other than clenching his jaw and shifting gears with a little more force than necessary, Liam doesn't react. He keeps his eyes on the road and a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, the headlights of his truck cutting through the dark night.

When Harry's little finger brushes what feels very much like Liam's hard dick, Liam finally grows his name in warning.

Biting his lip against a smile, Harry says, as casually as he can manage, “Do you think you could still shift gears if I sucked you off right now?”

Without warning, Liam wrenches the wheel, and Harry has to brace himself with one hand on the dash as they take a sharp turn off the road. The tires spit gravel and the headlights carve a wild arc of light over tangled shrubbery, but the truck doesn't crash into anything, so Liam must've found an unpaved road.

He pulls to a stop just behind a copse of trees, sheltering them from the highway, and their breath is loud in the sudden quiet when he cuts the engine.

“What the fuck, Liam, are you trying to kill--” Harry gets out before Liam is on him, unbuckling his seat belt in a scramble and lunging across the center consul. His hands are on Harry's shoulders, in his hair, cupping the back of his skull. When he kisses Harry, his mouth tastes like the beer he had back at the bar but his hands are steady, and when Harry parts his lips in a gasp, Liam presses his tongue inside, licking the back of Harry's teeth.

The kiss isn't gentle, and Harry hisses when Liam pulls sharply at his hair, his hips bucking up on reflex. He's still strapped in by the seat belt, and he reaches out blindly to stab at the fastener. Liam pulls at his hair again, tugging Harry's head back until his throat is bared. He presses open-mouthed kisses down Harry's jawline, and when he scrapes his teeth lightly over Harry's pulse point, Harry can't help the whimper that escapes.

“Fuck, Liam,” he gasps, and his fingers finally find the buckle to release his seat belt. Liam's more or less straddled his lap, one of his legs wedged between Harry's thighs, so it takes Harry a minute to fumble with the shoulder strap before he finally frees himself. He finds Liam's mouth again, kissing him fiercely, sinking his teeth into Liam's bottom lip. Liam groans low in his throat.

“This what you wanted, huh? Was this what you were after?” he pants when he pulls back, grabbing at Harry's shirt and tugging at the fabric until he can slide his hand under the hem, calloused fingers trailing up Harry's abs.

Harry gasps when Liam's fingers find his nipple, his shirt caught where it's rucked up beneath his armpits. He wants it off, wants Liam's off too, wants to feel the heat of Liam's smooth skin, the coarse hair on his chest. He tugs at Liam's shirt, swearing when it gets stuck partway, caught by Liam's arm in the narrow space.

Liam doesn't seem too concerned about it, though, his mouth busy sucking a bruise on Harry's neck that's going to be impossible to cover up, one hand still buried in Harry's hair, and the other – fuck, the other palming over Harry's dick through his jeans.

“Stop, stop, stop,” Harry manages to pant. Liam lifts his head, and even in the pale light of the moon, Harry can see the way his mouth glistens, wet and swollen from kissing Harry. His eyes are dark and serious, and a sweat damp curl spills across his forehead that Harry wants to reach out and touch.

“Stop?” Liam repeats, holding his hands very, very still.

“No, no, I mean--” Harry's having trouble forming words, all his blood busy in places that aren't his brain. “Can you – god, will you fuck me, Liam?”

Liam gapes at him a bit, muttering something under his breath that might be, _how are you even real_. Then he's fumbling for something behind Harry's elbow, and it's not until the door swings open that Harry realizes he's unlatched it.

“What are y--,” he starts to say, but Liam's already climbing out of the cab of the truck.

“Get out,” he orders, grabbing Harry's wrist and pulling.

Harry stumbles out after him, shirt still rucked partway up his chest and his dick painfully hard in his too tight jeans. “Liam, what are you--”

“C'mon,” Liam says, cutting him off. He drags Harry around the side of the truck, unlatching the back with jerky movements and crawling onto the truckbed on his hands and knees. Harry hesitates while Liam digs around in the metal toolbox at the far end of the trunk, finally unearthing a blanket that he tosses behind him. He looks back at Harry, then, and raises a brow.

“Well? I'm not fucking you in the front seat.”

“Jesus, Liam,” Harry says, and pulls himself up into the bed of the truck while Liam hastily unfolds the blanket, covering the hard plastic.

“You have stuff?”

Wordlessly, Harry reaches into his back pocket for his wallet, pulling out a condom and a small packet of lube. Liam snorts, and Harry grins at him. “What? You never know when a cute boy is gonna drive you into the woods and fuck you senseless under the stars.”

“You have oddly specific goals.”

“I'm an over-achiever,” Harry tells him, and craws into Liam's lap, knees on either side of Liam's thighs. He takes advantage of the new angle to kiss Liam deeply, sucking on his lower lip until Liam groans into his mouth. Liam has his hand in Harry's hair again, fingers carding gently through the strands before he tightens his grip suddenly, pulling until Harry chokes out a whimper. Bracing his hands on Liam's shoulders, Harry grinds down, swallowing the noise Liam makes.

It's a frantic scramble to shed their clothes, shirts snagging on elbows and pant legs getting caught around knees, but finally Harry can touch Liam's naked skin, running his hands over the hair on his chest, the smooth expanse of his back. He leans down to suck a mark onto Liam's collarbone, and Liam brushes Harry's jaw with his thumb, the touch surprisingly gentle.

Harry's breathing hard, and Liam hasn't even touched his dick since they stumbled out of the cab. Shuffling back on his knees, Harry slips his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, shoving the material past his hips. Liam watches him with dark eyes as Harry tugs them the rest of the way off, tossing them onto the pile with the rest of his discarded clothes.

“You planning to fuck me with yours still on?” he asks when Liam doesn't do more than stare at him, and his words seem to spur Liam into action. He sheds his own boxers quickly, dragging them down his long legs, and Harry barely has time to admire Liam's dick before Liam is crawling on top of him, shoving Harry down onto his back and straddling his hips. Beneath the blanket, the bed of the truck is unforgiving, and Harry's definitely going to be feeling this tomorrow. Liam leans down to tongue over Harry's nipple, making him arch his back with a whine, and Harry gropes around with one hand until his fingers close around the lube he set aside earlier.

He presses it into Liam's hand, and Liam slides down his body, pressing wet, open mouthed kisses in his wake until he's reached the trail of hair just below Harry's belly button. Gripping Harry's thigh, he pushes until Harry's knees are spread wide, shifting himself so he's in between Harry's legs, holding them open.

Harry doesn't even hear Liam rip open the packet of lube, his breathing is so loud, but he must've, because at the same time Liam's lips close around the head of his dick, his fingers press between Harry's cheeks, slick and a little cold.

Grabbing a fistful of blanket and clenching tightly, Harry concentrates on not fucking his hips up into Liam's mouth, overwhelmed by the wet heat enveloping his cock and the insistent press of fingers at his hole. Liam manages to work up a rhythm that leaves Harry nearly shaking, until he's got three fingers in him and Harry's moments from coming.

He pulls off with a wet pop and Harry whimpers at the sudden feeling of cold air against his dick. He close enough that it hurts, and he reaches down to wrap a hand around himself to finish, but Liam's quicker, grabbing his wrist to still him.

“Not yet,” he says, and his voice sounds wrecked. “Not until I say.”

“Please, Liam,” Harry whines, but he obediently leaves his hands at his sides when Liam releases him to grab for the condom, tearing open the package and rolling it on. He lines himself up, one of Harry's legs hitched around his waist, and Harry blurts out, “wait – will your knee be okay?”

In answer, Liam thrusts forward in one smooth slide, until his hips are pressed flush to Harry's thighs. He's breathing as hard as Harry is, chest hitching with each breath, and he leans down to press a sloppy kiss to the corner of Harry's mouth as he gives him a moment to adjust.

“It'll be fine,” he says. “But thanks for asking.”

“Great,” Harry manages in a tight voice. “Could you maybe move, then? Because I feel like I'm going to die, if you don't fuck me now.”

“Bossy,” Liam mumbles, but he starts moving his hips, slowly at first, then building up a quick, steady rhythm, skin slapping against skin with each thrust. When one of Harry's hands drifts back to his dick, he doesn't manage more than a fleeting touch before Liam's grabbing his wrist again, this time pinning both above his head.

Harry's painfully hard now, dribbling precome on his own stomach, and all he needs is a hand on his dick, a few quick tugs to come. Liam's hitting his prostrate with every other thrust, punching strained little noises out past his teeth, and he doesn't loosen his grip on Harry's wrists.

“Please, please, please, please,” Harry chants, not sure what he's begging for – Liam's fingers on his dick, or maybe his mouth again, or to keep riding the edge between pleasure and pain like this until he actually dies. Liam just picks up his pace, fucking Harry so hard the truck rocks, and Harry has to come, he _needs_ to, but he can't, not unless Liam touches him, not without more friction than his dick occasionally grazing against Liam's stomach as he pumps his hips.

“I'm– close--” Liam grits out, and his rhythm's gone a bit erratic, muscles flexing to hold himself up. Harry hitches his legs higher around Liam's waist, trying desperately to grind against him, and his wrists are straining against Liam's hold.

“ _Please_ ,” Harry half-sobs, and the word feels like it's torn from his throat.

“Not yet, not yet, not ye-- _now_ ,” Liam says, and Harry's never come untouched before, but he's been riding the edge for so long now, and Liam's voice is hoarse from sucking his dick and fucking him raw, and fuck, Harry is seeing _stars_.

It's not until his vision swims back into focus that he realizes it went white and fuzzy, and it's not until Liam swipes his thumb gently beneath Harry's eye that he realizes his face is wet with tears.

“You all right, babe?” Liam asks, eyes wide with concern.

“Y-yeah, yeah, I'm...” but Harry can't finish the sentence, completely out of words.

Liam pulls out as carefully as he can, but Harry still hisses at the sting, oversensitive. “Sorry, sorry,” Liam says, running a hand soothingly down Harry's sweaty chest. Harry's limbs feel floppy and useless, but Liam lies down next to him, tugging at Harry's arm until he rolls onto his side, tucked alongside Liam, his head pillowed on Liam's chest. Closing his eyes, Harry presses his face into Liam's neck, lets Liam pet at his sweat-damp hair as he catches his breath.

A long time later, when the sweat on their skin has cooled and their breathing has finally evened out, with Liam's hand resting possessively on the back of his neck, Harry says, “You coming to dinner Sunday, then?”

Liam snorts, but turns his head a second later to press a soft kiss to Harry's temple. “You won't take no for answer, will you?”

“Probably not,” Harry admits, and Liam gently squeezes the back of his neck. It's not quite a yes, but Harry will wear him down. 

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](http://moondoggiestyle.tumblr.com/)!


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